


Memories of Things Departed

by thephilosophersapprentice



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Chronic Pain, Disability, Edward Elric is disabled, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Post-Promised Day, Selim isn't evil, at least not any more, i just needed a filler character, yes that Lyra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 16:15:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18076721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thephilosophersapprentice/pseuds/thephilosophersapprentice
Summary: Edward might not have regrets, but that doesn't mean he still doesn't hurt, sometimes. And it's difficult seeing a former enemy now wear a face of innocence. Not that he'd tell Selim, or Mrs. Bradley.





	Memories of Things Departed

Something about the house—perhaps the slanting shadows from the pleasant, curtained windows—called up memories of another house, long ago, on a hill with a swing outside—before homunculi and war, before the study of alchemy had consumed their two young lives and taken his leg, even before a tall man had paused in the doorway to look back one last time and then never again.

Edward paused in the hall. His shoulder and leg were aching again. Even with his arm returned, the ghosts of pain had still not fully departed, just as the arm itself had never quite regained its delicacy of movement. Equivalence and entropy were the two laws of the universe, and even the scientist and alchemist could not escape them.

For a while, Ed wondered what would have become of them if they had gone on without exploring Hohenheim’s books, grown up in a world he could scarcely imagine now, blissfully ignorant. Even in the happy life he wasn’t quite sure what he’d given to receive in exchange, he was still haunted by the ghosts of the might-have-been and the never-was. Perhaps that was the price of wisdom.

Lyra came down the stairs, her eyes widening in surprise. “Mister Elric! Why didn’t you call?”

Ed summoned up a wan smile. “I only just got here,” he said, setting down the worn suitcase beside the door—the only thing he’d kept from his old life. The rest of it—black jacket and navy top, black pants, silver watch and red coat—all gone into the past. And he was content. But it still sometimes hurt.

Lyra led him through the darkened house with its high windows and back towards the garden. Mrs. Bradley drank tea in the gazebo while Selim played in the garden. Edward headed toward the gazebo to greet Mrs. Bradley first.

“Edward!” Mrs. Bradley greeted him with a smile. Ed smiled wanly back, limping slightly and wishing he’d brought his cane—it did help, but he always forgot it while travelling. “It’s so good to see you!”

“Likewise,” Edward said, accepting her brief hug. “How are you and Selim?”

The older woman smiled, not a shadow in her eyes. “We’re both doing very well.”

Ed felt a tug on his pant leg and looked down. It felt so strange to be so much taller than Selim, to look into eyes that had been dark with malice but now were filled with kindness and innocence. There was nothing about Selim any more that made his skin crawl, though he found himself still jumping at shadows at times. Selim showed him a fuzzy caterpillar and Ed bent down to admire it, flinching slightly at the ache in the junction with the automail.

Selim noticed. “Do you hurt?” he asked, eyes wide with concern.

“Yeah,” Ed admitted. “Sometimes old injuries still hurt, even years after they heal.”

“Let me see?” Selim asked.

Carefully, Ed rolled up the cuff of his pants, stopping at the knee—the roll was too stiff to go any higher. Selim watched, wide-eyed. Ed half-smiled. “It’s all right. You can touch it.”

“Cool,” Selim breathed. Ed chuckled.

Selim hesitated for a moment, and Ed froze, his heart coming to a standstill. But Selim merely kissed his fingers and pressed them briefly against the knee joint. “To make the hurt go away,” he said.

Edward smiled, feeling his chest tighten. “Thanks.”

Selim ran off, carrying the woolly caterpillar back to the garden. Edward remained sitting on the grass, his pant leg rolled up, exposing his automail.

“He’s grown into such a kind-hearted child,” Mrs. Bradley said softly, pouring a second cup of tea. Ed stared after the child. He might have given up his ability to do alchemy, but bits and pieces stayed with him—or slotted themselves into the gaps. He could feel the faint pull of a soul in his chest when the former Pride was nearby, and Ed sometimes wondered if it had belonged to some Xerxian child once, now mercifully free of memories of madness and pain. Then, on a darker vein—what if Selim’s body eventually started to reject the soul? But he didn’t say anything to Mrs. Bradley. If he saw any of the warning signs, he would tell her—but not burden her further with worries that might prove baseless.

Mercy. He had heard souls crying out in anguish, in a tortured maelstrom of agony, and try to escape into his own body and reform there, only to start the cycle anew. The souls, maybe, of his own relatives, now long dead and forgotten. He wished them peace at last, or failing that, oblivion.

“Edward?” Mrs. Bradley asked.

Ed stood shakily and sat in the gazebo.

“You look so lost, sometimes,” Mrs. Bradley commented as she handed him the second teacup.

Edward smiled faintly at her. “Not lost, Mrs. Bradley… Just thinking. And hurting.”

“I suppose that everything you’ve gone through must have changed you,” Mrs. Bradley said.

“Change seems like a mild word for it.” Ed sipped his tea.

“Was it worth it?”

Ed smiled. “Every second.”

Finishing his tea, Ed got up and hobbled to where Selim was picking dandelions. “Here. Pick them a bit closer to the ground, okay?” he said, beginning to knot two stems together.

Wide-eyed, Selim imitated him. The stems broke off as he pulled a bit too hard.

“Why?”

“You’ve got to be gentle, and take your time,” Edward said. “See?” He tried. It was his turn to pull too hard and snap off the chain.

Selim giggled. “You’re clumsy too, Mr. Ed.”

“Yeah.” Ed tried and failed again. Selim attempted to tie the stems together with exaggerated slowness. This time, he succeeded.

The afternoon passed quietly, marked out in cups of tea and occasional excursions to the edge of the gardens to examine an earthworm, toad or interesting footprint. But slowly the air grew cooler, the wind picking up.

Mrs. Bradley looked up. “Time to go inside, Selim. It’s going to rain.”

Ed winced as he stood. “Called it.” He nodded to Mrs. Bradley. “Thank you for your hospitality. I should be heading back.”

“You are always welcome to stay the night here,” Mrs. Bradley said.

Edward shook his head. “No… I don’t want to impose and wear out my welcome. I’ll visit again soon.”

“Selim,” Mrs. Bradley called.

“Yes, Momma!” Selim called back, running inside. Mrs. Bradley stopped Ed with a hand on his shoulder before he could follow.

“They told me you were the one who spared the homunculus Pride,” she said. “I want to thank you for that.”

Edward shifted uncomfortably. “I just… didn’t want to kill anyone. Especially not a child.”

“From what they told me, Pride was not remotely a child.”

Edward sighed. “It wasn’t quite compassion. But there was something pitiable… about all of them. I just hope Selim’s life won’t…” He swallowed, unable to continue.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Bradley whispered.

* * *

 

Edward beat the rain to his hotel room by a few seconds. He closed the door behind him, leaning on it as he sank to the floor and sobbed.


End file.
